


Children Weigh Hard on My Heart

by Cinaed



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Canon Era, Gen, Kid Fic, Male Friendship, Minor Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2001909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is ridiculous that Javert should feel jealous of a child, and yet he is. It does not help that little Jeanne seems to hold him in disdain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children Weigh Hard on My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'rejection' square for my [hurt/comfort bingo card](http://cinaed.dreamwidth.org/315391.html) because Javert being terrible with children gives me joy.

"Ah, Javert!" Valjean says brightly from the door to the antechamber— and brightly _is_ the word, for the birth of his first grandchild seems to have supplied him with an endless amount of happiness, the intensity of which has not lessened in the weeks following little Jeanne’s arrival.

"Valjean," Javert says, and although he is glad for the smile gracing Valjean’s normally grave features, he nevertheless eyes with deep misgiving the bundle Valjean is cradling. Jeanne’s face can barely be seen amid the blankets, but she appears much the same as the week before, red-faced and looking more like a creature from the Jardin des Plantes than a human child.

Javert prays that Valjean does not try to mimic Cosette’s disastrous attempt at an introduction. He still remembers the child’s look of betrayal and horror as Cosette set her in his arms and said cheerfully, “And this is your grandfather’s friend— oh, pardon Jeanne, monsieur, she is still a little nervous around strangers,” and quickly retrieved a now-howling Jeanne from his arms. 

But it seems Valjean will make another attempt, for he says in a whisper, “Will you hold Jeanne for a moment while I fetch a cloth? Marius and Cosette brought her for a visit and promptly fell asleep." The corners of his eyes crinkle in fond amusement. "They are exhausted and need their rest, or else I would ask them.” Valjean does not wait for an answer. Instead he settles a half-dozing Jeanne into Javert’s arms and promptly disappears into one of his rooms, presumably to get the aforementioned cloth.

Javert frowns down at the child, who at least has not begun to scream. It is a more promising beginning than last week. Still, he cannot help but make a moue of distaste, for there is milk crusted upon her cheeks.

A moment later, Jeanne blinks open her eyes and her gaze meets his. Perhaps it is his imagination, but it seems as though the child makes an answering moue of distaste at him, displeased at his presence. Well, he thinks, at least she is not crying. 

She vomits all over his shoulder.

Later, he will claim he yelled Valjean’s name loudly and insist that whatever others might think, he did not  _shriek_ , and Valjean will smile and agree, but at the moment Javert’s panicked exclamation brings Valjean back into the room in an instant.

"She is sick," Javert snaps, all but thrusting the child into Valjean’s arms as Cosette and Marius stumble out of one of the bedchambers, looking drowsy and anxious. "Look at my coat, she is obviously ill. I shall go and fetch a doctor, she will, she will— …Why are you laughing?"

 

* * *

 

The child hates him.

This would not be a problem, for Javert has little interest in children, except that Jeanne's overt dislike makes Valjean unhappy. His joy, previously overflowing, is tempered now by anxiety. "Perhaps if you were not so stiff when you held her...?" he suggests one day. When Javert attempts to relax and Jeanne merely wails louder, he frowns and says, "Perhaps if you--"

" _Valjean_ ," Javert snarls over the child's enraged howling. He cannot hear himself think; he has a headache, the pain sharp and throbbing in tune with Jeanne's protests. Jeanne flails, expressing her fury with strikes of her tiny fists and feet against Javert's arms and chest. He holds himself very still, enduring the blows, and says through gritted teeth, "Take her back."

It is like magic, how the child's mouth snaps shut as soon as she is in her grandfather's arms. She gulps for air, still very red in the face, and lets out one last complaining grumble before she rests her face upon Valjean's chest and seems to fall asleep. 

Javert raises his hand to his forehead, which still aches despite the blissful silence. There is a dull pressure that his fingers cannot banish. He sighs, and knows without looking that Valjean frowns at him. Still rubbing at his brow, he says tiredly, "Perhaps now you will give up these attempts? It is obvious that the child hates me."

"Javert," Valjean says.

Javert grimaces at Valjean's quiet amusement, as though Valjean thinks he jests. It is too much, suddenly. The evening, which Javert thought to have with Valjean alone, has transformed from a quiet dinner to this farce. The antechamber seems too small, the air too stifled, and still his head pounds. He gathers up his hat and cane without consciously deciding that he is leaving, jams his hat upon his head with more force than necessary. "You must want more time with the child. I will visit another evening," he says. 

"Javert," Valjean says again, frowning.

Javert ignores the puzzled concern in Valjean's expression. He makes a hasty retreat out of the antechamber and down the stairs. Once outside, he stands there for a long moment, his eyes closed, struggling to banish the flustered warmth from his face and calm his thoughts. 

Now that he has fled, he feels very much the fool. He turns his cane round and round in his hands and scowls, imagining how he must have looked, running away from an infant who cannot even speak yet. There is a sour taste in his mouth. His headache is still there, muted but present.

He is jealous, he realizes, a humorless laugh catching in his throat, jealous and resentful of a _child_. And yet until Jeanne's arrival, Javert had not realized quite how much he had come to enjoy these evenings with Valjean, how much he would miss them when they were gone or altered into uncomfortable visits like this one. The thought comes to him, unbidden,  _He was mine first_ , and then reels at his own absurdity.

Valjean is not his by any stretch of the imagination. Even this strange friendship they have tentatively fostered in the years since the failed insurgency is a pale thing compared to the affection Valjean does and should shower upon his beloved Cosette's child. 

Javert is still struggling with his pettiness when Valjean calls his name, very softly. He flinches before he gains control of himself. He fixes a neutral look upon his face. Very slowly, he turns. There is no sign of Jeanne. Javert suspects she is in the care of Valjean's landlady, who fusses over the child like she's her own and whose presence, Javert thinks darkly, Jeanne welcomes. 

Valjean wears a small, tentative smile, hovering in the doorway. It is not yet dusk; Valjean's uncertainty is plain upon his face. "You left rather suddenly."

"I," Javert says and stops. What can he say? He cannot explain himself to Valjean. How can he speak of his selfishness, how he wishes things were as before, when he and Valjean could share an evening in discussion of something other than little Jeanne? He fidgets with his cane and mutters a half-truth. "Well, my presence upsets the child, so I thought--" 

"Your presence does not upset Jeanne," Valjean says firmly. The uncertainty has left his face, replaced by a calm conviction. "The way you hold her alarms her, yes, because she can tell you are nervous and that makes her nervous, but she does not  _hate_ you, Javert." He pauses, and Javert flushes a little under his assessing look. A second later he nods to himself. "I have been rude," he says.

This is so unexpected that Javert laughs, a harsh, incredulous sound. He cannot make any sense of Valjean's words. " _Rude_? You have not--"

Valjean holds up a hand. He wears a strange smile now, both teasing and apologetic. "No, do not argue. I have turned into a boring old man who drones on about one thing only. You must admit that I have talked of little else but Jeanne since she was born." 

Javert stares. He wonders what Valjean sees in his expression to speak so, or if this is merely Valjean guessing at the reasons for Javert's disquiet. Shame pricks at him, sharply, that Valjean should feel the need to apologize for his own happiness. He finds his voice. "Well. So you have. And why not? You are happy. Why should you not speak of it if speaking of it gives you more happiness? It--" He stops, struggling to find the right words. Haltingly, he says, "It is good to see you so. But I am sorry that Jeanne dislikes me, for it upsets you." 

"She does not dislike you," Valjean says with a shake of his head. His lips twitch and then settle into another small, awkward smile. He hesitates. "If I promise to speak of something other than Jeanne, will you come back inside?"

"Valjean," Javert says, choking on another harsh laugh. Is he so transparent then? Is his selfishness so obvious? He taps his cane sharply against the ground, stirring up dirt. "I would-- I would not censor you so. If you wish to speak of Jeanne, then--" He pauses at the expression on Valjean's face, half-fond, half-exasperated, and feels even more ridiculous than before.

"Javert. I did not mean I would never speak again of Jeanne, only that we might speak of something else and hold an actual conversation. We did so before, if you remember! I do not think I have asked you about your work in weeks." Valjean pauses and clears his throat. "Whatever happened with that Bonnet case? Did you catch the thief?"

Javert studies him for a moment, but Valjean seems earnest in his interest. If he suspects that Javert has been jealous of Jeanne, it doesn't show in his face. Relief washes over Javert. He clears his throat. "Well, that is an interesting story," he says.

Valjean's expression lightens a little. "I would be happy to hear it," he says, and then steps aside to let Javert inside. 

Before Javert enters, however, he hesitates and looks another moment at Valjean. Still feeling a little foolish, he says, "You say that Jeanne does not dislike me. I will trust your judgment. But you do know that I do not dislike her either?" It is the truth. He may be petty enough to resent her a little for how much of Valjean's attention she has, but he cannot resent how much joy she brings Valjean. "I-- I have not much experience with children, but she seems a sweet thing whenever someone other than myself is holding her, and--"

"Javert," Valjean says, but now he is laughing, first one quiet chuckle escaping him, and then another, full of fond amusement. He presses Javert's elbow and smiles at him; Javert feels most of his embarrassment vanish in the wake of that gentle touch and warm smile. Softly, Valjean says, "I know."

"Well, good." Javert clears his throat, and smiles tentatively back. "Now, about Madame Bonnet...."


End file.
